Black and Purple Stockings
by Ash Light
Summary: Fagin finds a new pickpocket in the Three Cripples and takes her back to the gang. Nancy adores her, Charlie loves her, and Dodger hates her. A normal life and a chance on the stage is, unsurprisingly, a long way off.
1. Where The Girl Is Discovered

**A/N**: Aw, how could I _not_ do an Oliver Twist fic? Especially when I have 'Reviewing the Situation' stuck in my head. So yes, I have decided to write a story which will probably go on for decades and decades until I am an old woman with sixty eight cats.

Even thoughI like dogs better.

But _anyway, _I am going to start this fic. Because I love Oliver. And Dodger. And Charlie. And everyone esle.

You know what to do. Read, review and all that jazz.

**Disclaimer**: Oliver Twist belongs to Charles Dickens, who is dead, and I don't think knows how to operate a computer. So, no, Oliver Twist doesn't belong to me. Oliver! belongs to Carol Reed and Lionel Bart. I'm not either one of these people. Therefore, none of this stuff belongs to me. I'm just having fun with it. Lettie, however, does belong to me. You can borrow her. Just be nice. She bites.

* * *

In the Three Cripples, a pub of risqué standards, low morals, and cheap gin, you got a lot of…unsavoury characters. Mister Fagin, residence of An Old Abandoned Warehouse Just Down The Road, religion; Jew, occupation; crook, pickpocket, assistant to breaking and entering, was one such character. And right now he was currently in said pub, drinking said gin, and pondering said occupation and its success.

Or rather, lack of.

Could _he_ be blamed for the lack of willing pickpockets in the area? Children these days had such high morals, but that was hardly _his_ fault, was it? And honestly, was _he_ to be blamed for the public's habit of wearing coats which, coincidentally, in case you didn't know, had tighter pockets to guard against pickpockets (really, who would wish do to such a thing?)? And was _he_ to have foreseen that policeman spotting Barney just withdrawing his hand from a particularly prime plant, and chasing him halfway round London?

Evidently not. But Bill Sikes, former protégé and now present employer of Fagin, seemed to think so.

"You get me some more cash, Fagin," He had snarled, "Or I'll find myself a new buyer."

"Get a new buyer, get a new buyer," Fagin muttered, rubbing his neck from where the man's fingers had pressed, "No-one would put up with 'im for so long."

But he was wrong, and he knew it. So the only solution was to get some more money.

Question was, from where?

Sighing, the old Jew adjusted his rather large hat, and looked around the pub. Were there any extremely rich patrons here, perhaps second cousin to the Queen or fifteenth in line to the throne, who might need their pocket's lightened a few bob?

No. Just the usual rakes that hardly had a shilling amongst them.

There was an unknown face amongst the singing crowd, though. A grave-faced woman, with straw-liked hair that greyed slightly at the temple of her uncovered head. She was short, but held herself upright so she gave the appearance of being tall, and had large, deep blue eyes that seemed to be permanently watery.

Humming along to the song being belted out around him, Fagin made his way gingerly to where the woman (who, he realised with a shock, could only be in her mid-thirties, though her lined face showed other-wise) was crouching, peering under the table.

"Now, Lettie," The woman was pleading as he neared, in a cracked, hoarse voice "You gotta do this. You gotta be a big girl for me. You'll make more money than me or your father, you hear me? But from now on you're goin' alone, you understand?"

"I won't be able to see you again, will I," A higher, smaller voice replied. It was not so much a question as a statement.

The woman shook her head, her straw-like curls bouncing limply, "No….no…you won't."

There was a small sniff from under the table, and then a pair of small, white hands came out from under the table and latched themselves around the woman's neck. The woman stayed still for a fraction of a second, and then straightened up rapidly and walked briskly out to the door. As she passed him, Fagin could see her eyes were red.

The small hands had withdrawn themselves back under the table.

Two, three steps were taken, and Fagin was standing in the exact same place as the woman. His boots were large, stomping and creaking, so it was no surprise that the little shadow cast upon the floor was smaller, curling into itself. He bent down, wincing as his knees scraped the uneven floor, and blinked under the table.

The little girl sat under the table screamed shrilly.

In two seconds Fagin's hand was firmly clamped around her mouth, "What are you playin' at, girl?" He hissed, grimacing comically at the staring couple at the next table, "S' only old Fagin. Nothin' to be afraid of."

The girl looked like she was having serious doubts about this last statement, but she nodded suspiciously as Fagin took his hand back. The old man knelt down on the floor opposite her, "Are you goin' to stay there forever?" He asked.

The girl bobbed her head, "Might do."

"You _like_ sitting under dirty tables in pubs of ill repute, my dear?"

"Mama said stay here until someone with food came," The girl fixed him with a beady stare, "Do _you_ have food?"

Fagin began to feel like he was being cross-examined, "Of course I 'ave food," He retorted, "Can't live without it, can yer? Basic fact of life, m'dear, that man cannot live without the four basic elements; food, water, air, and money."

The girl blinked, "You can survive without money."

"Of course you can't."

"Yes you can."

"No you ca –" Fagin stopped in mid 'can't', and reminded himself that he was not Dodger, neither was he Dodger's age, and therefore he was excused from squabbling with little girls, "Look here, that was your Mama there, wasn't it?"

"Yeah."

"She wants you to survive, doesn't she?"

The girl shrugged, "S'pose."

"Course she does. And she said that you'd make more money than her. She wants you to have money, she wants you to survive, ergo, you need money to survive."

The little snub nose wrinkled up, "That doesn't make sense."

"Life hardly does," Fagin told her.

"You talk too fast," The girl complained, "Do you really need money to survive?"

"Yes. See, you learn a little something with Fagin every day," Mostly when to duck, Fagin added silently, "So, do you fancy coming out any time soon?"

"What's it to yer?"

"Your Mama left you here to make your fortune then, eh?"

"What if she did?"

Fagin raised his eyes to the ceiling, "You can't make your fortune by sitting under a table, my dear."

"Might do."

"Look, come here," Fagin grabbed the girl by the elbows and pulled her out from under the table and to her feet, "Now you can see better, and you have as much chance of making your fortune in this world as any other human being."

The girl folded her arms and stuck her chin out determinedly, "Well maybe I do and maybe I don't," She told him, and sauntered off.

Fagin's hand shot out and grabbed the girl by the shoulder, "But before you _do_ go, my dear, perhaps you would be so good as to give me back my wallet?"

The stuck her hands into her coat pockets and glowered at the floor, "How'd you guess?"

"My dear, I have had a lot of experience with pickpockets. I know tha –" He cut himself off sharply as the girl began to fumble through the wallet.

"Shillin'……shillin'…..half a crown…..ha'penny….shillin'…..Hardly nuffin' worth stealin' in 'ere," She grumbled, calmly pocketing the half crown.

Fagin looked down at her, "You're used to making bigger pickings?" He asked, ignoring the half-crown.

The girl shrugged lazily, "If I want to."

The old man bent down so he was eye-level with her, "Are you any good at thievin', my dear?"

"I could be."

"Try it out on that gentleman over there," He ordered, pointing to a tall, beefy looking man with a bright pink face, lounging over a pint of beer.

"Why should I?"

"Think of it as an audition, my dear," Fagin smiled toothily at her, "For the stage. They have auditions in the theatre, don't they? Wouldn't you like to be on the stage, my dear?"

The girl tried to look nonchalant, but her eyes had brightened slightly, "Might do. I played an angel in church once. I had two lines."

"And a wonderful angel you'd make, my girl! But you go up to that gentleman there now, and see if you can't bring his wallet over here without him noticing."

"Alright," The girl shrugged, withdrawing her hands and wriggling her fingers about. Fagin was reminded irresistibly of Dodger, "Do I get to keep it?"

"Not if you want to keep that half crown."

She scowled, but shrugged, and made her way smoothly over to the large man, her eyes darting about the pub. Fagin held his breath as she neared him, one hand slightly outstretched, and then….

"Here!" She exclaimed, waving the wallet about in front of his face, "Got it, didn't I?"

"You certainly did," Fagin muttered, examining the large, leather-bound wallet, "Well, that was a prime plant. You're a clever girl, my dear!" He exclaimed, saying the same words he did to every new pickpocket, "I never saw a sharper lass than you! I don't suppose you would like to make more money out of that now, would you?"

The girl inclined her head, "Sure," She stuck her hands back into the large grey overcoat that was over a torn scarlet dress, and purple-and-black striped stockings.

Fagin grinned, "Good girl, clever girl. Well, let's have a look at you," He bent down and looked at the girl properly.

The child was pretty, in a mournful, half-starved sort of way. She was short, and an extremely scrawny, scraggly-looking child, with blanched ivory skin. Dark, chestnut-brown hair came down to her shoulders in unruly curls, tied up with a large crimson bow, and her eyes were dark blue, almost black, and narrowed.

"What you starin' at anyways?" She demanded, folding her arms angrily. Fagin noticed how the light blue veins stuck out from her wrists.

"Seeing whether you would be good for business, my dear," The old Jew answered, "You would be no suspect in any pickpocketing, mark my words, with a face like that. A pretty girl like you could make a lot of money."

The girl shifted, obviously interested, "….Really?"

Fagin took her by the shoulders and turned her around to look at the girls next to the bar, Nancy at the front, who were performing some kind of risqué song, "You see those girls over there. They're…dancers," He hastily corrected himself, "And they're successful. They make money, my dear, more than you could dream of," Fagin smiled, lying coolly through his teeth, "How would you like to be one of them, eh?"

The girl turned back and smiled, the first proper smile that Fagin had seen from her, "I'd like that very much sir!"

"Well then! I shall have to do all I can to help you become a dancer then, won't I? But for now, you can come and stay with me, and some acquaintances of mine, alright? And you shall take wallets and 'kerchiefs from others, because if you don't, then someone else _will_, and that person who takes it might as well be you. Would you like that?"

"Yeah."

"You're a smart girl for taking my offer, I can see that right now," Fagin told her, "How old are you?"

"Seven."

"Well then, a fine time for you to start making a living for yourself then, eh? Do you have a name?"

The girl wrinkled up her nose, "Lettie Hackdown."

Fagin stuck his hand out, "Fagin is my name, and that's what you'll call me in the future. Pleased to meet you, Miss Hackdown."

The girl stuck her own hand out and shook his hand firmly, which Fagin noticed was clad in a purple-and-black striped fingerless glove which went up past her sleeve, "It's Lettie or nothin'."

"Lettie it is then. Would you like to come and see your new home then, Lettie?"

Lettie bent down under the table and brought out a little bundle of clothes wrapped in a colourless sheet. Fagin could see the title of a book '_EAST OF THE SUN, WEST OF THE MOON, and other stories_' quite visibly, "Yeah, ok."

The old man let the girl take his hand, "Come with me then, my dear, into a bright new future."

* * *

Do I need to tell everyone what to do? REVIEW. The ickle review button is calling to you. It says 'REVIEW, REVIEW!' in a little squeaky voice. Listen, you can hear it!

Ok, I'm gonna go now before I get locked up for hearing voices.


	2. Where The Boy Lands On The Girl

**A/N:** HELLO, MY ADORING FANS!

_crickets chirp _

Alright then, hello people who have most kindly reviewed! You guys are the cats pyjamas. You are the bees knees. You are, one might go so far to say, the blue bottle's elbows.

And between you and me, that is saying something.

**Disclaimers**: You know what I don't own? The new _Rayman_ game. Neither do I own _Oliver Twist._ It belongs to Charles Dickens. I don't think the _Rayman_ game does though.

* * *

Jack Dawkins, known to his more intimate friends as the Artful Dodger, woke up and realised he was horrible, painfully, achingly, tummy-grumbling, mouth-watering hungry.

This was not the sort of 'hungry' that would go away after a couple of minutes listening to the other boys breathe. No, this was the sort of 'hungry' that would be cured only by getting up, slipping through the room, and having a quick rummage around what Fagin called the pantry.

He yawned, remembering to kick Charlie swiftly in the side, then rolled over smoothly when the other boy's fist came shooting out at his head. He had done this the first night that Charlie had arrived. Somehow he had never broken the habit. Still rolling over as Charlie's booted foot aimed a kick at him, he let out a little squeak as he ran out of bed to roll off and ended up on thin air.

"OW!"

"OW!"

Dodger's head shot up. He had never studied Science, thought it was a load of rubbish, but he knew for a fact that the floor shouldn't be yelling at him. And he definitely knew that the floor shouldn't be as soft as that.

Eyes darting around to make sure no-one was awake, he scrambled back up on the bed, Charlie having stopped thrashing around, and blinked down at the Thing at the side of the bed.

"Charlie," He mumbled, shaking Charlie gently by the shoulder, "There's a Thing at the side of the bed."

"Wha -?" Charlie's eyes, bloodshot from his first try of gin last night (a result of a squabble with some of the older boys) opened slowly and blinked twice, "You're dreamin', Dodge. Go back to slee –" He got no further before letting his eyes drift back closed.

Dodger rubbed his fists into his eyes, waited until he was feeling a considerable amount of pain, and convinced himself that he was _not_ dreaming. Then he lowered his head and peered back over the side.

There was a small but rather irritable looking face glaring up at him.

Dodger gulped.

This proved that he was not, as such, dreaming. And that there was, in fact, a Thing at the side of the bed.

"You _could_ watch out, you know," The Thing snapped, "You're _heavy_. And I don't suppose _you_ would enjoy _me_ waking you up by dropping on you when you were sleeping….."

Dodger resisted the urge to groan. Not only was the Thing real, but it had all the nagging capacities of his mother.

The boy made a face, "Wait there, please," he told the Thing, and turned back to shove Charlie.

"_Charlie_," He whined, "There _is_ a Thing at the side of the bed, and now it's scolding me."

Charlie's hand came as a complete surprise to him, hitting him sidewise on, "Go '_way_ Dodge."

"It's _there_!" Dodger insisted, kicking the boy twice, and swatting him in the face for good measure, "It's _down there_, and it's scolding me!"

Charlie's only answer was an angry swear and a fist ploughed into Dodger's stomach.

"It's alright for you," Dodger grumbled, rubbing his already aching stomach, "It's on my side of the bed," He grabbed Charlie by the scruff of the neck and hauled him upwards, ignoring the string of curses, "Look for yourself!"

Master Bates elbowed Dodger in the ribs and looked over the side of the bed, "That's not a Thing, Dodge, that's a girl." He managed to yawn, before crashing his head into the pillow again.

Dodger scowled. This was even worse than a Thing. You could battle a Thing. You weren't even allowed to hit girls.

"Are you really a girl?" He asked the little face.

"Course I am," The face told him, "Got the dress, don't I?"

Dodger looked over the side and concluded that yes, the red thing that covered the girl was a dress.

"Nancy's is nicer than yours," He told her.

The girl poked her dress, "How come?"

"Yours had more rips and tears in it. Nancy's is neat, and it has purple frills at the bottom of it."

"You shouldn't be looking down there," The girl reprimanded him severely, straightening out the dirty skirt, "And I have purple and black stockings. That's almost the same."

"It ain't. They got holes in 'em, look," Dodger pointed at the girl's legs, whose purple and black stockings did indeed have a few holes.

The girl scowled at him again and covered up her legs with her skirt, "You shouldn't be lookin' down there neither," She blinked up at him, "Who's Nancy?"

"A girl. Older than you. She's prettier too," Dodger told her bluntly, "I'm gonna marry her when I grow up."

"Poor her."

Dodger ignored the girl's obvious snub, "Who're you, anyways?"

"I'm the girl that Fagin thought could make a living thievin'."

"Girls don't thieve."

"Yes they do. I do."

"Yeah, but not here. They don't stay here. They go and live in pubs and stuff."

"Not me," The girl yawned, "Fagin said I could stay here. He said other girls have done too. I'm not old enough to live in a pub."

"How old are you?"

"Seven."

Dodger mentally cursed. Great. A year younger than him. He was going to get lumbered with showing her the ropes for sure, "What's your name then?"

"What?"

"You can't stay somewhere without a name. People wouldn't know what to say. You'd be ignored."

The girl wrinkled her nose up at the logic, "I'm Lettie Hackdown."

"I'm Jack Dawkins. All my friends call me the Artful Dodger."

"Why?"

"Cos I can dodge the traps at the first sign of trouble."

"I mean the first part."

Dodger shrugged, "My mother said I was silver-tongued. Could get anyone I wanted to listen to what I said and do what I want."

The girl folded her arms, "I won't do what you want."

Dodger stuck his tongue out at her, "I can't help it if you don't follow the Laws of Nature, can I?"

Lettie shrugged, wrapping her arms around her body, "Got n'ything to eat?"

"What?"

"Food. To eat. Fagin didn't give me any," The girl scowled, "Mama _said_ to wait for someone with food."

"We have food," Dodger told her, sliding off the bed and landing in a pile next to her, "Want some?"

"I don't know where it is."

Dodger fumbled slightly, limbs still tangled, "If you help me up."

Lettie held out her hand, and the boy reached for it. It was small and warm, and he could feel the pulse underneath her glove.

They didn't let go of each other when Dodger got up. It seemed only natural.

* * *

Aw! Does the fluff and cuteness not make your heart soar? Or is it just me?

Probably me.

Meh. Anyway, thankyou guys for the kickass reviews! Kudos to you all! I don't even know what that means!

Thanks to:

**jumanji** (Ta very muchly) **touchnotthecat** (where did your fic go? I came back to fanfiction and it disappeared!) **Queen of Badgers** (funky name. Black and purple socks rock. I want some!) **and Hannah the Fly** (I enjoy writing Fagin. He's the coolest!).

You've read the fic. Seen the disclaimers. Read the list of thankyous. You see the review button.

You know what to do.


	3. Where The Boy Is Utterly Dismayed

**Disclaimer**: Not mine. Apart from Lettie. The boys are based on the ones in the musical _Oliver!_

**A/N**: Salutations! Another chapter of pickpockets, teasing, poker, little kids arguments, and unrequited love. Aw. Isn't that sweet?

Well, maybe to you, but not to Dodger, that's for sure.

* * *

"I'm gonna be an actress when I grow up, Dodge," Lettie said firmly, biting into her bread roll. 

"Really?" Dodger asked uninterestedly, leaning against the bed. It had been a few weeks since Lettie had arrived, and the irritable, annoying, pesky, and utterly sensitive girl had become completely fascinated in him.

Not that he could blame the girl, of course. It was all Fagin's fault. Fortune Teller that he had been, he _had_ been landed with looking after the girl. He _had_ been the one to take her out on the job, and yes, he _had_ been the one to show her the ropes, tell her who was who, and show her what to do. And Fagin, wise man that he had been, had instructed Lettie to stick to Dodger. Like glue. And stuck she had.

It had been like having a little shadow following him around everywhere.

"Yeah. On the stage an' everythin'."

A very _talkative_ little shadow.

"Don't you ever talk about anything else?" He grumbled, swinging his feet and kicking the sideboard. It was better than kicking Lettie.

"What do you want to talk about then?"

Dodger fought the urge to groan, "Nuffin'."

"Nothin'."

"Nuffin'," He forced a grin on his face and pointed to two of the boys in the corner of the room, "You see Charlie and Jamie? They'll talk about something with you," He shoved her gently on the shoulder, "Go on then."

"Fagin said I was s'posed to stay with you."

Dodger would _really_ have to talk to Fagin. Surely Lettie understood that Fagin hadn't meant _all the time_.

Although, knowing the sadistic Jew, he probably _had_ meant that.

"When we're on the _job_, remember? You can talk to the other boys if you want."

Lettie looked as if she was thinking, "Will you come with me, Dodge?"

_Do not hit girls. Do not hit girls. Do not hit girls_.

"NO," Dodger snapped, jumping up and grabbing Lettie by the shoulders and marching her over to Charlie and Jamie, "Will you two _please_ look after her for an hour or two?"

Jamie, a tall fair-haired boy with an over-sized coat and an over-sized grin, smirked, "What's the matter Dodger, your small charge gettin' too much for ya?"

_Do not hit Jamie either. He's taller than you. He'd probably knock you out. But it'd be worth it just to see him with a broken nose. And everyone would thank you for it. He's a pain in the proverbial anyway. You'd probably get a medal for it._

"I didn't _say_ that," Dodger ground out, teeth gritted, "Just look after her, will ya?"

Charlie put an arm around Lettie's shoulders, ruffling her hair with his free hand. Lettie grinned angelically and blinked sweetly up at Dodger. Dodger rolled his eyes, "Aw Dodger, don'tcha like lookin' after her? She's really sweet when you get to know her."

Dodger glared dangerously at Charlie. Charlie Bates was his best friend. They were pals, blood brothers, team mates, fighters against the world, the Two Musketeers, you hurt me, you hurt him; you hurt him, you hurt me, all for one, one for all, swords in the ceiling, all that. And now Charlie was siding against him with a _girl_.

"She is not _sweet_," Dodger snarled, "She's a demon in a dress."

Jamie chuckled appreciatively, chucking Lettie under the chin. Charlie rolled his eyes, grinning, and Lettie…Lettie _giggled_.

"Lettie, I was insulting you," Dodger told her, completely perplexed.

"I know. I thought it was funny," She beamed up at Dodger in a way that, had she been seventeen and not seven, he would have deemed flirtatious, "You're funny, Dodge."

Urgh. Oh, _God_. The kid was _flirting_ with him.

Dodger could feel his face turning a bright red. Charlie started smirking, and Jamie's grin spread wider. Dodger was sure his face was going to split in a moment. Although that may have been just wishful thinking.

"Well, _look at that_," Jamie said smoothly, "_Dodger's_ got a _sweetheart_."

His face was definitely on fire.

"Isn't that _sweet_, Dodger?"

Probably could fry an egg on his face.

"You gonna go all soppy like Tom and Bet then, Dodge?"

They should start using his face for cooking the sausages on at dinner time.

"So what other qualities does our dear Artful have, Lettie-girl?" Jamie asked Lettie, looking far too pleased with himself, "What other things endears him to you?"

Oh Lord. That was taking it _too_ far. Surely the girl wasn't actually going to….

Lettie opened her mouth, completely unabashed, "Well," She started, "He's very clever. He knows a lot about stuff…."

"I'm getting out of here," Dodger muttered darkly, retreating to where some of the boys were playing cards.

"What's the matter Dodger?" Warren, a small rabbity-looking boy with dark curly hair and a pale face, asked him, "Why ain't you lookin' after Lettie?"

"She ain't my little sister, is she?" Dodger retorted, taking a swig of gin. He shot a glare at Warren that told him that in no way, shape or form, was he going to carry on with the discussion of Lettie.

"Well, why don't you like her?" The smaller boy asked. He knew no fear, "She's sweet."

"_Everyone_ says that!" The Artful Dodger wailed, "_Everyone_, and what they don't seem to understand is that she ain't sweet, she ain't innocent and she ain't angelic, she's this little evil, devious little fiend that is taking far too much pleasure in making my life hell!"

"Really?" Warren blundered on, "'Cos Barney and Tom told me that she really _likes_ you…."

"Warren," Dodger said dangerously, "You like playin' cards, right?"

"Yeah."

"If you carry on, you ain't gonna have any hands to deal them cards, you get my drift?"

Warren gulped. Smart kid, "Sure thing, Dodge."

Dodger shook his head, pushing his top hat back on his head, "Good. Deal me in."

So that was good. No more taunts. No more teasing. No more implications. Just playing cards with the older boys (and winning), with a mug of gin and a particularly good hand….

"Hullo Dodger."

He had just imagined that voice. It couldn't be possible that the owner of that voice was sitting down right beside him…

"Are you playing cards?"

Or maybe he was just going mad. Maybe it had finally happened. He'd gone insane.

"Can I play?"

His thoughts broken off, Dodger wheeled around, "NO."

Lettie pouted, "Why not?"

"_Yeah_, Dodger, why won't you let your sweetheart play cards?"

Dodger turned round and shot a glare at Jamie. It was a glare of Death, Destruction and Utter Doom.

Jamie didn't even flinch. Damn him.

"_What_?" Jamie protested, "She's pretty; I'll have her if you won't."

"I won't let her play," Dodger ploughed on, ignoring Jamie's last comment, "Because she don't know how to."

Safe in the knowledge that he was safe, Dodger turned back to his hand and began shuffling through the cards…

"Yes I do. I was just taught how to."

_Damn_.

"_Fine_!" He yelped, "But you're gonna be losing all your money anyways."

Lettie smirked, "We'll see," She folded her hands demurely into her lap and watched Barney unwisely raise the bet, "Can I have my cards, please?"

All in all, it wouldn't be so bad. She'd play once, lose, give up…Dodger shook his head as he put down his cards, confident that he was going to sort Lettie out once and for all….

"Is that it?" Lettie beamed cheerfully down at Dodger's three of a kind, "I got a Straight!"

Or not.

Dodger blinked disbelievingly down at Lettie's hand, "But…how the….you didn't…."

"Quit while you're ahead, Dodge," Charlie said coolly.

"Don't be daft," Dodger snapped, "It's just beginner's luck. She'll go out on the next hand."

Or the next.

Or the next.

Five hands later, Lettie had won every single game. Dodger was still glowering at her as she scooped the mound of coins into her pockets.

"Who taught you to play poker?" He demanded.

"Jamie, Baccy and Ace," She nodded over at Jamie, Baccy, a surly looking boy with dark hair, a grimy face and a pipe stuck in his mouth, and Ace, a fresh-faced boy with a fez stuck on his head, all three of whom were grinning back at him.

Oh great. Typical. The three best card players in their age range, and they had to teach Little Miss Innocent how to play poker. Bloody brilliant.

"It's an awful lot of money, ain't it Dodger?" The girl asked cheerfully. Dodger's only answer was a dark glare at her.

"You lost a load of money in the last game, Dodge," Lettie ploughed on, leaning closer to him, "But don't worry," She lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, "I'll share with you if you like."

Jamie burst out laughing, clinging onto Baccy's shoulder. Warren and Barney had identical disgusted looks on their faces, and Charlie grinned widely.

Dodger groaned and banged his head on the table.

* * *

Is it disturbing that I started manically laughing halfway through this chapter? 

Bwahaha...I loved tormenting Dodger in this chapter. And no, I do not feel sorry for him at all...I'm evil. Really evil.

Ok, time to thank the usual suspects: **touchnotthecat** (Meh. Post it back again) **jumanji** (I'm evil. I don't feel sorry for him at all) and **Queen OF the Badgers** (Apologies. A one-sided crush doesn't really count as something too gross, does it?)

Ok, just for fun...who is who? Here is my little guide to the pickpocket boys.

**Warren**: The boy who Fagin calls Charlie (but there's two of them, so...) and keeps the watch after 'Pick a Pocket Or Two'.

**Jamie**: The tallfair haired boy with a brown/green jacket who groans 'Oh, not again' when Oliver comes in. I LOVE that boy. He has the best expressions ever.

**Baccy**: The boy who sits next to Jamie in the first scene. Wears a strange hat, blue waistcoat and seems to have a pipe permanently attached to his mouth.

**Ace**: Oh, come on, there's only one boy in _Oliver!_ with a fez.

**Charlie**: The boy who goes with Dodger and Oliver 'on the job'. Complains about the lack of sausages for breakfast.

**Dodger**: I _think_ we can all tell who Dodger is.

I'll have to make a little picture guide to this...I have WAY too much free time, but it'd be fun...

Remember...REVIEW!


	4. Where The Boy Picks A Fight

**Disclaimer**: Oliver Twist is as much mine as...pretzels. Yes. And, as I own no pretzles, then I own no Oliver Twist.

I wish I had a pretzel...

**A/N**: Gasp! Can it be? Can she possibly have updated?

Yes, the answer, my friends, is yes.

This chapter worries me slightly. So for this, you have to understand, is that in the Victorian times, some girls were willingly being prostitutes at Lettie's age.

Which she isn't, of course. But the kids would certainly have had an expanded vocabulary and more advanced ideas than eight and nine year olds would have now.

Which, in simple terms, means that Charlie, Dodger and Lettieare as experienced in the world as normal fourteen and fifteen year olds are now. Sorry for shattering their innocence for you. Please don't hate me.

Actually, I don't think Dodger or Charlie ever were innocent.

* * *

Lettie sighed, sprawled out on Charlie's bed, legs splayed slightly, "You'll get neck-ache if you keep doing that," she reprimanded. 

Charlie looked at her so quickly that his neck clicked, "Pardon?" he asked, his eyes glazed over slightly with exhaustion.

"Keep lookin' at the door," The younger girl stifled a yawn, "Why don't you get some sleep? I'll wait up."

He shook his head, pulling his cap back, "I'm alright," His eyes travelled to the door again, "They've never been so late back before," He mumbled.

"Maybe it's a long job."

"Or maybe the traps gottem."

The two sat in silence for a minute. Bill Sykes, professional thief, house breaker, bully boy, murderer, and girl friend beater, had gone for yet another one of his midnight jaunts into some rich snob's house. Perfectly normal and usual. Except this time he had taken Dodger as a helper.

"I need one with wits, and a little 'un," He had growled at Fagin as his beefy fingers had gripped around Dodger's collar, "An' this sneaky little rat's hardly tall, is 'e?"

Dodger had let out an imaginative string of curse words out at this point, to which Bill Sykes had soundly walloped him about the head, before dragging him out the door, Dodger's legs almost trailing across the floor. They had laughed at that point, Jamie making extremely lewd comments about how Master Dawkins' could make up for his height in several ways. But it was almost two 'o clock now, and the gang was beginning to weary of waiting. The Bigguns, Barney and Tommy the ringleaders, had started up a new, if not tentative game of cards, and most of the Tiddlers, Charlie and Lettie not included, had fell asleep.

Lettie rubbed her eyes, "Maybe they stopped off at the Three Cripples."

Charlie grimaced and collapsed next to Lettie, his head falling onto her shoulder, "That's not good. A tired and potentially drunk Dodger in the same room as several whores."

Lettie laughed quietly, resting her face in Charlie's mop of dusty brown hair, "I can picture it," She mumbled.

Charlie propped himself up on one elbow, "You still keen on 'im?" He asked interestedly, "It's bin 'bout…..a year now, right?"

The girl shrugged, not an easy feat when you're lying down, "I dunno. He ain't exactly the 'knight in shining armour' I imagined."

"Pardon?"

Lettie reached down to the floor and scrabbled around until she found what she was looking for, "My books," She said, waving the well-thumbed copy of EAST OF THE SUN, WEST OF THE MOON, "They all have white knights in shining armour riding on a white steed to the princess's rescue. I always reckoned I might 'ave one of them."

Charlie pushed his hair back from his brown eyes, "You'd be 'ard pressed to find a white knight around 'ere," He gestured wildly, "Too much dust and rust. And the only steed's around are old Tom's donkey. Maybe a slightly grey knight with squeaky armour and a half-starved donkey?"

Lettie hit him in the shoulder, "It's _metaphorical_," She stressed.

"Dodger ain't metaphora…..meto…..metaphorol….thingy."

The girl made a face, "Stupid."

Charlie shrugged, before letting his head flop back onto the pillow, "You know you love me really," He reminded her cheekily, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

"You _are_ stupid," Lettie grumbled, as Charlie hugged her, "Stupid, stupid, stupid…."

"Work on your insults."

"Lousy, sloppy, immature, drunk, ignorant," Lettie ploughed on, "And the really pathetic thing is that you're a downright, well-bred gentleman compared to Dodger."

Charlie rolled away from her, beaming, "What can I say? I'm a marvel."

Lettie grinned, shoving him, "That's not quite the word I was looking for."

Charlie opened his mouth for what was obviously going to be a witty and stinging retort, before he was cut off by a series of loud, throaty barks and several pairs of falling footsteps on the bridge outside.

"Look who's back," Lettie yawned, propping herself up on her elbows for a better look, "'Bout time too."

The rickety door burst open, almost swinging off its hingesto reveal a beaming, albeit exhausted Dodger, almost collapsing at the knees, face blanched a sickly white, but utterly cheerful. Behind him stood the man who had opened the door, Bill Sykes, towering well over Dodger, carrying a large sack full of ill-gotten gains, and wearing, surprisingly, a slight smile. Next to him was the ever waddling Bullseye, and behind the dog was a fourth figure, half hidden in the shadows.

Fagin strode up to them, arms flung wide open, "Boys, boys!" He cried, while fixing one beady eye on the large sack, "So good to see you again! You have kept us waiting, my dears, for ever so long, thought somethin' 'ad 'appened to you!" He let out a greasy laugh, "Not that we didn't have faith in you, Bill, of course we 'ad faith in you…" He grinned toothily, lowering his voice as he leant next to Dodger, "'Ow much cash did you manage to swipe from this old coot, Dodger?"

Grinning wearily, Dodger procured a small purse bulging with coins, handing it reluctantly to Fagin, "Even though 's rightfully _mine_," He grumbled sullenly.

Fagin cuffed him sharply over the head, keeping his grin fixed firmly on his face, "I trust he's been good, Bill?"

Bill Sykes shrugged, trying to keep his impressed expression behind bars, "He's a right one, I'll give 'im that," He said, causing Dodger to grin triumphantly up at Fagin, "Now, if you don't mind Fagin, as your cash _is _here with you, perhaps we could get to the matter of my fee?"

As Fagin shuffled off half-heartedly, Dodger swaggered over to where Lettie and Charlie were waiting eagerly for him, his self-satisfied expression turning to one of utter disgust, "_Yeuch_!" He exclaimed, "You two haven't been kissin', have you?"

Charlie shook his head, smirking, "No. Why, jealous?"

Dodger shot him a Look, sitting down next to Lettie, "No. No way," He propped his hat up and grinned, "Did you hear him? I impressed him, that's for sure."

"Who cares?" Lettie grumbled, hugging her knees to her chest, "'S only Bill Sykes, ain't it? Who cares about his opinion? Oh, _alright_," she relented as both Dodger and Charlie began shoving her, "I know you lads think he's all Heaven and Earth – but he's just a man."

"Who _everyone_ respects and fears," Dodger pointed out.

"And who can get into _any_ house you show 'im – just show 'im the house and – bam! – he'll get in there."

"And who has the most _gorgeous_ sweetheart."

Lettie wrinkled up her nose at Dodger, "And I don't know why you don't give that up as a bad job – she never even notices any of you."

"You just wait," Dodger said, almost dreamily, "I'm gonna marry her – just you wait and see."

Lettie made a disgusted face and shook her head tartly, "You lot make complete donkeys out of yourselves when ever she comes around – well, I don't even think she's that pretty!" She ended defiantly, jutting out her chin.

"She's prettier than you!" Charlie said snidely.

Lettie scowled, and made to jump out of the bed, when Dodger caught her by the laces on the back of her petticoat and jerked her back, "Get back here," he ordered, a little more testily, "You'll look like a right fool running around in just that thing." The boy folded his arms, relenting slightly at Lettie's hurt look, "Oh, alright," he grumbled, "Don't get all insulted at me – look, I got somethin' for you."

He reached down, his hand scrabbling down in his hand pocket, before withdrawing with something, "Look here," He said, passing Lettie the small leather-bound book, "the old codger had a library full of the things – thought you might like it."

Lettie's eyes widened, sparkling joyfully, "Oh, Dodge!" She exclaimed, flicking hurriedly through the leaf-like pages, "there are stories here I haven't even read – oh, thankyou!"

She flung her arms around Dodger's neck, hugging him tightly, "Yeah…..alright Lett….it wasn't much, or anythin'," Dodger mumbled, looking utterly terrified.

"Well, well…..how sweet."

Lettie let go, slowly sliding away from Dodger and into Charlie. Both the boys had identically pugnacious looks on their face, and the remainder of the awake Bigguns were looking darkly in their direction at the stranger that now joined them.

It was the fourth figure that had joined Dodger, Bill Sykes and Bullseye. He must have been no more than twelve or thirteen, and stood taller than either Dodger or Charlie. All his clothes were made of some rich, dark material, and perched on top of his slicked back, dark hair, was perched a large top hat that rivalled Dodger's.

Maybe it was the haughty way that the boy cocked the hat that made Dodger push his own hat defiantly back from his face, "What d'_you_ want?"

The boy smirked, dull blue eyes glittering malevolently, and leant against one of the wooden pillars that decorated the room, "Now, Jackey-boy, is that any way to greet one of your business associates?" Dodger bristled angrily at the nickname, "Who's the lass, Donkey?" he asked, turning to Charlie.

"New gal," Charlie said defensively, wrapping an arm around Lettie, "Joined about a year ago."

The boy raised an eyebrow, looking Lettie up and down so intently that she squirmed uncomfortably, "She's a bit of a looker, isn't she?" He finally said, "So what's she doin' around you lot?"

Charlie lent forward and grabbed Dodger by the collar to keep him from springing at the boy, "Easy, Dodge," He muttered lowly, keeping his eyes fixed on the intruder, "Just ignore the smarmy bastard."

The boy laughed richly, a grating, throaty sound that made Lettie shuffle backwards to peer over Dodger's shoulder, "Who's 'e?" she asked finally, finding her voice.

"That's Tom Doyle," Charlie grumbled, one hand still firmly grabbing Dodger by the shoulder, "'E helps Bill Sykes with the break-in's."

"Why don't he work here?"

Tom Doyle smiled thinly, "Because I felt that my area of expertise best suited me to work in another line of more experienced business."

Dodger, who had been so occupied with thinking with several insults for the boy, finally burst out with, "Bollocks," He spat, "You don't know what half of those words mean."

The boy sighed, "_Really_, Jackey-boy, you shouldn't assume that all people are as ignorant as you," He smirked as Dodger made another attempted lunge at him, "But you children should probably get some sleep….See you later, Jakcey-boy…..Donkey…."

Dodger made a noise like an angry cat as Tom swaggered away, "Just wait…..just wait," He growled, "I'll get him someday…."

Charlie, who was panting slightly from the effort of keeping Dodger back, let go, sliding back onto the bed, "He ain't worth it, Dodge….'sides, you don't want to go messin' with him."

"You don't think I'm a match for him?" Dodger asked angrily, curling up next to Lettie and pulling the moth-eaten rug that covered the bed over him.

"No," Charlie said decisively, as Lettie's eyes started to flutter closed, "I'm just saying he could make life very difficult for you if you got in his way."

----

"Get up!" Jamie ordered, pulling Lettie up by the straps of her petticoat, "Some of us have gotta get to work today – and you lot are included."

"Alright, alright," Dodger grumbled, falling onto the floor and rubbing his bruised elbow testily, "_Some_ of us were up late last night."

Lettie shot a dirty look at Jamie, wriggling out of his grip, "Yeah, and _some_ of us don't appreciate being woken up like that," She snapped, pulling on her dress, "Stupid."

"Work on your insults!" Charlie yelled after her as she walked over to the water bucket, splashing water onto her face and neck. She stuck her tongue out at him, grabbing a bread roll from a passing Fagin.

"Thanks Fagin."

Fagin shook his head, grumbling incoherently as he set down the plate on the table, "Appetite, appetite," He grinned at her, showing more gold filling than tooth, "Still, we mustn't stop you from eating, must we, my dear? Must keep your strength up, all of your strength up, especially you, my little sparrow."

Lettie looked up, her mouth full of half-cooked dough, "Eh?"

"Young Master Doyle took quite a liking to you last night, pumpkin. You certainly weaved your magic around him!"

"Magic?"

Fagin waved a reprimanding finger at her, though ruining the effect completely by winking, "Now, now, don't play coy with me, Leticia! You carry out the way you started, gosling, and you'll go a long way. Perhaps even as far as Nancy….now, you'd like that, wouldn't you? A young man to buy you clothes and diamonds, and to drive you around, in a big carriage, to the balls and theatres….you'd like that, my dear, wouldn't you, now?"

----

"Fagin talks a lot of rubbish, you know," Dodger told her later, as they walked down the busy London roads.

"Hmm?"

"You know. I heard. What 'e said," Dodger paused, before offering more of an explanation, "Doyle wouldn't give you any of that stuff."

"I guessed that."

"Good. I just didn't want you thinking, you know, that he would. Give you all that stuff, I mean. Cos he wouldn't."

Lettie shrugged, mumbling, "Probably not."

"What d'you mean, 'probably not'?" Dodger demanded, "It's _definitely_ not! He _definitely_ wouldn't give you anythin'!"

"Fagin said Tom could turn out like Bill Sykes, if he wanted to," Lettie pointed out, a bit unnecessarily, Dodger thought.

"What does that matter?" Dodger snapped, kicking a bollard in his temper and swearing, "Ow….Look, Bill Sykes may be a right amazin' house breaker, but he beats up Nancy somthin' awful! You wouldn't want that to happen to you, would yer?"

Lettie coloured up nicely, "Well, who said anythin' about _me_?" She exclaimed, "You're just jealous, that's it!"

Dodger's face had turned an amazingly deep shade of red, "I…well, that's wrong end of the….."

"Yeah, you are!" Lettie yelled at him, "You're just jealous because he's a _much_ better thief than you, Fagin told me so!"

"Fagin talks rubbish!" Dodger shouted, his colour going down slightly, "And if _you_ want to go off with Doyle, that's fine by me…but _I_ think he's a bad character, and so does nearly everyone else!"

Lettie folded her arms, "Well, that's what _you_ think. In my books, whenever someone disapproves of a boy, he turns out to be _great_!"

"Stop talking about your bleeding books! They're just rubbishy stories that never, _ever_ turn out to be true! And neither will your precious Tom Doyle, so he won't," Dodger turned on his heel and stormed off, leaving a furious Lettie in his wake.

* * *

**A/N: **I just _love_ writing fights. It's so much fun. Though I suspect there will be many more as time goes on. 

Special thankyous for -** jumanji** (Calm down! I have updated again, if only to stop you fromcausing yourself an extreme injury) **theLOSTCSIfreak** (Danke! Merci! And thanks!) **thewannabedwarf** (I love your pen name. I am also very jealous that you live in Canada)**AuroraMercury67** (Who has written some very lovely Oliver Twist stories. I must figure out a way to reply to your very very long review. Ok. Yes,you should finish your fics. I remembered that Charlie is spelt with an -ey, but I keep forgetting as I write. Yeah, Lettie is very bothersome. That's part of her charm. But I reckon Dodger loves her really. And if Dickens had written her into the books...well, the musical would be...odd. And I want her stockings) **and GarenRuyMaxwell **(You are quite correct. I reckon Dodger was twelve or eleven in the books. This, however, is before the books. Quite a bit before the books. Oliver is, at this current moment, eating gruel and being tormented by Mister Bumbell. We won't see him for another good three or four years.).

Well, that was a long slog. Read, REVIEW, and...eat chocolate. Because that always makes everyone feel happy.

Review?


	5. Where The Girl Is Utterly Annoyed

**Disclaimer**: Not mine. I own nothing. Don't kill me.

**A/N**: Again I have updated! Joy to the world! Peace to all men! Halleluiah!

Yay.

I have amazing news! I watched the latest version of _Oliver Twist_! Which actually isn't that bad. It's a bit more factual and acurate than the musical, but I am a loyal _Oliver_! watcher, so I can't elaborate on that. But Oliver and Charlie are _brilliant_. I still can't decide which Dodger is better, Jack Wild or Harry Eden. They're both so lovely.

Ahem.

I like this chapter. It has _loads _of Charlie in it. He's so fun to write. And there's a cute moment between Dodger and Lettie, and a new character, and more of sneaky evil Tom Doyle, and Nancy finally enters...

You know what, why don't you just read it?

* * *

There were many things that the young Master Charlie Bates was afraid of. Of course, he would never admit it – oh dear me _no_, to the outside world, he was just as brave as Dodger. Only, as he would often say, with a more cautious, sensible nature.

Which, as Dodger put it, just meant that he was a coward that would never jump into danger unless someone was holding a gun to his head.

Charlie preferred to say that he was interested in self-preservation.

But anyway, let us get on.

There were indeed many things that the young Master Charlie Bates was afraid of. He was afraid of the traps. He was afraid of getting scragged. He was afraid of Bill Sykes. He was afraid – though if you ever repeat this, he'll deny it profusely – of the dark. Bullseye could send him into a slight panic, the lads at the Three Cripples could alarm him at times, and he had vowed to never be in a room alone with Tom Doyle, for fear of his blood pressure. He could get a little afraid of Fagin, could get a little nervous around Nancy, and would sometimes ever become a little wary around Dodger.

But there was one thing that he had long ago decided never to be afraid of. The one thing that he had decided that _yes_, he was never _ever_ going to be in anyway scared of. A short, sullen little creature with hair that had never been brushed and a face that had never been washed. Oh yes, he, Charlie Bates, was _not_ going to be scared by Lettie Hackdown.

So why had he backed into a wall, almost shaking in his boots, to get away from the girl?

Self-preservation, as we have said, of course. After all, the girl did _not_ look happy. And that shopping basket was looking pretty threatening.

"But Lettie!" Charlie whined, back up against the wall of the Three Cripples, "I don't _like_ shopping!"

Ah yes. Another one of Charlie Bates' fears. Shopping.

"I don't _care_!" Lettie snapped, reaching up and grabbing Charlie by the lapels on his coat, "Fagin said I need an escort to look after me in town, and I'm damn well gonna have one!"

"You don't need an escort! You're so….tough, and defensive and very, very scary!" Charlie blurted out, trying to edge away from the girl, "And why d'you need me? Take someone else! Take Jamie, or Baccy, or….ow!" He yelped as Lettie yanked him back to his original position, "Or Dodger! Take Dodger! I'm sure he'd _love_ to come with you!"

Lettie jammed her hands on her hips, "Charlie, I _need_ to get this food for you lot, or you're all gonna starve. Jamie's on the job, Baccy's nowhere to be found, and Dodger's still being a complete and utter louse!"

"I'm _always _a complete and utter louse," Charlie said demurely, folding his hands behind his back.

"Don't I know it," Lettie growled, "Look, you're coming with me, whether you like it or – HEY!"

Charlie was running, sprinting as fast as he could go. He was running as fast as the wind, as fast as a bolt of lightning, as fast as his legs could take him. He was speeding, dodging, ducking around the patrons of the Three Cripples. He was rapid, swift, like a flash, running at a rate of knots, running speedily to the door…..

And suddenly completely stationary.

Charlie was beginning to wonder why he was dangling three feet off the floor.

Tom Doyle smiled charmingly as Charlie began struggling from under his arm, "Miss Lettie, I believe this belongs to you?"

Charlie had never seen Lettie change from scowling to smiling in such a short period of time, "Oh….um…..yeah….that…that's mine….he's…he's meant to be helping me…."

Tom shook Charlie hard enough to hurt, "Shame on you, Charlie!" He said jovially, "You should always be willing to help a lady!"

"Yeah…." Charlie snarled, "I notice you're always helping them….undress, that is."

Tom dropped Charlie so suddenly that the boy hit the floor with a crash, "I would be _most_ delighted to help out any young lady of such beauty and charm, were it not for the fact that I am unfortunately called away on business," He doffed his hat and sauntered off, winking at Lettie as he went.

Charlie struggled up and stared, disbelievingly at Lettie, who was staring into the distance, eyes slightly glazed over, with a large grin on her face, "I don't _believe_ you," He groaned.

----

"Uh……Lettie?"

"Yeah?"

"I know I'm not a complete expert on shopping and all that, but….."

"What?"

"Why the hell are we outside a dress shop?"

Lettie shot him an exasperated look, "Honestly, Charlie. Why d'you think?"

Charlie stayed still for a second, before he leapt back, eyes wide, hands outstretched, "Oh no. OH no. You're not getting me in that shop. Not for nuffin'. We're meant to be _food shopping_, Lettie. FOOD SHOPPING!" He clasped his hands pleadingly, "Remember? You NEED to get this food before we all STARVE, Lettie, STARVE!"

Lettie sighed petulantly, peering into the window, "I know….but Nancy said I needed a new dress and I had to come here today to get one."

"You hate Nancy! Why are you suddenly listening to her?"

"Because I _do_…..besides, it's a toss up between going clothes shopping and food shopping, and I want to get a new dress."

Charlie looked at her disbelievingly, "That means it's a toss up between annoying Nancy and annoying Fagin."

"I'd _definitely_ prefer annoying Fagin to Nancy."

Charlie kicked the side of the pavement, scowling, "I hate clothes shopping."

Lettie smiled sweetly, "I know. That's why I brought you."

"You little –"

"Well, it was a choice between you and Dodger, and really – "

"Fightin' with the lads again, are we Let?"

Lettie folded her arms and glowered up at the lovely Miss Nancy, "So?" She grumbled.

Nancy raised her eyebrows at the girl, "No need to get so snappy, Lettie. Still sore from that last spat with Dodger, eh?"

"_No_. What did you want me here for, anyway?"

Nancy smiled cheerfully, "Wanted to introduce you to your new best friend," She beamed.

"Sorry?"

Nancy patted Lettie on the shoulder, "Being cooped up with those boys all the time can't be good for a young 'un like you, Let. So I found you a friend," She indicated to the girl standing next to her, "Cordelia, say hullo to Lettie, will you?"

Cordelia smiled and waved at Lettie. The girl was Lettie's age, but willowy – extremely tall and thin, with long brown hair that swung gently about her waist. She was pale, in an extremely elegant way that outshone Lettie's blanched white skin, and freckles thinly decorated her high cheekbones. Her thick black eyelashes slanted upward, and her dark eyes were flecked slightly with gold. She wore a deep velvet green dress that sucked in her waist and flared out around her leather boots. She was a complete contrast to the small and messy Lettie.

Lettie opened her mouth and then shut it. She opened and shut it again. She swallowed and turned to Charlie for support, only to discover that the boy was staring at Cordelia in the exact same way, but with a tad less panic and a smidgen more joy in his stare.

Lettie closed her eyes and groaned quietly.

----

"Nancy, who _is_ that girl?"

"A sister of a friend. Why did you look so shocked when you saw her?"

"Apart from the fact that she looks like she stepped out of the fairy court, you mean? And her name! Where did she get that from?"

"Lettie, it's a nice name. And she's a pretty gel. I'd think you'd be happy."

"And did you _see_ the way Charlie was gawping at her! He's not s'pose to like girls yet! How come he stares at _her_?"

"Because she's pretty."

"Okay, I get it…..OW! Don't pull so tight!"

"Stop being such a baby, Lettie….It's the only way you'll fit into a corset."

"I s'pose _Cordelia_ doesn't even _need_ one of these bloody contraptions….She looks _half-starved_!"

"She's _slim_, Lettie."

"Well, someone should feed her something...Stop pulling!"

"Put your arms up Lettie, I can barely fit this thing on you!"

"I _know_ how to dress myself Nancy, you don't have to help."

"Yes, I _do_…..you'll tear it if you don't watch out!"

"This petticoat is _tangling_…..Nancy, all these straps are getting in the way!"

"Stop squirming you little wretch! Ah…..there you go."

"I can barely _breathe_! _Nancy_!"

"It's the latest fashion."

"It's the latest fashion to be asphyxiated?"

"No stupid, the dress. Don't you want a look at yourself?"

"I'll look stupid."

"No you don't."

"Yes, I _do_."

"No you don't."

"Yes I……No I don't."

"See?"

'….'

"It doesn't look bad, does it?"

"I look….I look like one of them actresses on stage. Or one of your dancers at the Three Cripples."

"Um...that's good Lettie."

'….'

"I bet _Cordelia_ would look better in this."

"_Lettie_!"

"Well, she would!"

"That's it……sit down and shut up."

"What're you doing back there – OW!"

"I'm brushing your hair. God knows you need it."

"You're ripping my hair out!"

"If Cordelia can cope with it, so can you."

"…..Damn you."

"I love you too, Lettie."

"What've you done?"

"Tied your up with some ribbons."

"They're pretty."

"They should be. Tom Doyle bought 'em for you."

"…….Oh."

----

"Don't you dare laugh," Lettie muttered as she hid behind the kitchen door, "But I'm coming out."

Charlie waited five seconds after Lettie appeared before doubling over with laughter.

"I _knew_ it!" Lettie wailed, diving behind the curtain, "I _knew_ you'd laugh!"

"Oh gawd!" Charlie yelped, collapsing against Baccy, "Look at her togs! Look at her...Oh, my eye! She looks like a right toff! Quite the little lady! Oh, hold me someone while I laughs it out! Oh lord, what fun it is!"

Lettie scowled, and, reaching behind the window sill, grabbed hold of a tile which she threw straight at Charlie's head. This did not, in fact, quieten Master Bates, but sent him into a louder fit of laughter than his first.

"Spruced up alright, didn't she?" Jamie said admiringly, folding his arms, "Nancy bought all that for you with the money from the latest job, did she?"

Lettie paused for a second before nodding, "_Yeah_," She walked out from the curtain, causing Charlie to fall to the floor and kick his feet in his mirth, "Shut up Charlie."

"All done up, and looking like a lady," Charlie snickered, stuffing his 'kerchief into his mouth, "Oh, my life, my life! She does look proper! Oh, Fagin, look at her!" He cried, leaping to his feet, "Do look at her; it is the most jolly sight I have seen in my life! I can't bear it; it is such a jolly game I simply cannot bear it!"

"Quiet it down, Charlie!" Lettie pleaded, collapsing into a chair, "Shush, and go back to dreaming about Cordelia!"

"Ah, and there's the step at the door," Charlie said loudly, "And it's the Artful for sure; for he hasn't arrived yet, and what a pity! He'll miss out on all the fun and games! Do go and let him in Fagin, for I can't let him go without seeing Lettie all done up like this."

"Don't you dare!" Lettie yelled, scrambling to her feet, "Don't let 'im in Fagin, he'll tease me so much for sure!"

"You cannot avoid him until you grow out of that dress, my dear," Fagin reminded her calmly.

"Watch me!" The girl hissed, "I'll just hide here until…AH!" She squealed as she fell over Charlie's outstretched foot and went tumbling to the floor, just as Dodger entered the room.

The boy looked at her for a second, "Cor," He muttered, "Who done you up so nice, Lettie?"

"_Shut up_," Lettie hissed, walking up to the fire and stirring the pot in an aggravated manner, "I've only just had to deal with _him_."

"Oh. That had to be hard."

"It _was_," Lettie grumbled sullenly, "Pass me that salt. And I got a new best friend today."

Dodger shrugged, passing her the salt, "Oh. Huh. Why d'you sound so unhappy 'bout it then?"

"Cos I don't like her."

"That defeats the whole idea of being best friend's with her then, don't it? It ain't Tom Doyle then?"

Lettie flushed, "_No_, it _ain't_."

Dodger's countenance brightened noticeably, "Oh. That's good then. What's the matter with this girl then?"

Lettie jerked her head to the opening door, "See for yourself," She grumbled as Nancy, and Cordelia walked through the door.

Dodger made an interested face, "She's pretty."

Lettie glowered at him sourly, "Oh, you think so?"

Dodger nodded, smirking, "Yeah."

Lettie sighed, and looked over at where Charlie was now talking animatedly to an interested looking Cordelia, "_Urgh_," She grumbled, "Look at the smitten look on her _face_!"

"I was going to say that he was the smitten looking one," Dodger intoned, "Don't half look disgusting, don't it?"

"'S _horrible_."

"I'm _never_ going to end up like that."

"Nope. Me neither."

Lettie looked up and beamed at Dodger, who returned a slightly crooked grin in return, "About that stupid Doyle….."

"Oh, you should have seen her _face_!" Nancy's carrying voice reached the pair, "Like she'd just been _shot_!"

"She _does_ look darling, don't she?" Cordelia's voice was rich, musical, "And those ribbons suit her so terribly. Did you say Tom Doyle bought 'em for her?"

Lettie swallowed and looked up at Dodger. Her beaming smile was the same as it had been a moment ago, except with a slight uneasiness.

"You know...the funniest thing happened today..." She began.

* * *

**A/N**: Cackle. Oh, I do so love writing Dodger-Lettie-Doyle love triangles. Which, as time goes on and the kids get older into their teens, are gonna get more and more interesting.

Aw, and Charlie's got a crush on Cordelia! I'm not trying to make you hate her, honest, she's a very nice character. Just a little too...perfect.

And now, thankyous to... **Vechababe** (Yeah, Tom Doyle is not a nice guy. He gets worse as time goes by, too. But no, Lettie isn't trying to get Dodger jealous...yet, at least. And yeah, Harry Eden's too cool for words) **vionette **(Yeah, fanfic is so easy to get addicted to. And I have to agree, the book is pretty hard to read unless you're a serious bookworm. But I reckon Dodger would _seriously_ screw up his love life. Over. And over. And over again) **touchnotthecat** (Dude, you're back! START YOUR FIC AGAIN!) **GarenRuyMaxwell **(Yeah, I'm trying to be historically accurate. Besides, it's so freaking hard writing little kids that I have to old them up a little bit) **jumanji **(Aw. I send you virtual chocolates and ice for your poor hand) **Ericketiting **(Everyone loves Charlie. He's adorable) **thewannabedwarf** (Witty banter rocks. It's so easy to write.) **QueenoftheBadgers** (HELLO! You and your long, rambling and off-the-point reviewsd are back! I know, the prostitution bit is just...horribly to think about. But it works. And I LOVE writing Charlie and Dodger. They're both so adorable. Plus writing jealous Dodger and sneaky Tom is just...fun.) **and SugarPeaches** (Yay! I feel so loved.)

And that was...long. Get on reviewing. REVIEW! And eat a lot of Easter Egg chocolate.

HAPPY BELATED EASTER, EVERYONE!

**Quick extra note**: On another completely different note, as I am _completely_ bored at the moment, can someone give me some _Oliver Twist_ challenges please? I just need something to write about when I'm not adding on to this.


	6. Where The Boy Gets A Shock

**Disclaimer**: Ok, you guys know the drill. I own nothing. Charles Dickens owns everything.

**A/N**: I hate it when I get writer's block. And severe writer's block at that.

Luckily for you lucky people, my muses would not let me give up on this story! Maybe because they all started yelling at me (in different languages, might I add), or because I had just watched _Oliver Twist_ for the upteenth time, I felt the time was ripe for a new chapter!

Am I not lovely?

Oh, and if anyone's wondering, it's another two years since the fourth chapter. So Tom's fourteen, Dodger and Charlie are eleven, and Lettie's ten. Lettie's romantic feelings have, unfortunately, not changed in the slightest. Damn.

* * *

"You, sir," Lettie said calmly, glaring across the table at Dodger, "Are the most arrogant, uncaring, deficient, ungallant, insensitive, haughty, conceited and irresponsible boy I have ever had the misfortune to meet." 

"Conceited and arrogant mean the same thing," Dodger reminded her cheerfully.

"And another thing…..shut up," she continued, glowering at him, "And another thing - you are plainly too cocky for your own good, as well as _that_, you have no care whatsoever for other people's feelings – "

"That's the same as being insensitive," Charlie cut in quietly.

"And furthermore," Lettie carried on loudly, "You simply are TOO CALM FOR YOUR OWN GOOD….STOP SMIRKING!"

She smashed her book down on the table as Dodger burst out laughing, "Stop it!"

"Lettie," Charlie snickered, pushing his hat back from his forehead and pretending to wipe his eyes with mirth, "When are you going to learn that you simply cannot rile the Dodger today?"

"You could at least have the gallantness to act insulted!" Lettie yelled, stamping her foot down, "Just one little sign of annoyance is _all_ I ask, but _all_ I ask, and is that too much to ask? No it is not! It is _all_ that I wish, a mere _smidgen_ of annoyance, for your best friend, your one, true, only friend in the whole, entire worl –"

"What am I, invisible?"

"Shut up, Charlie - and is it a terrible thing? Is it an effort, my dear Dodger –"

"Your _dear_ Dodger? The Artful is privileged indeed."

"_Keep your trap shut, Charlie_ - and is it an effort, my dear Dodger? Is it hard, to even _react_ to my tirade, but yes, apparently it is! You arrogant, uncaring, deficient, ungallant, insensitive, haughty, conceited, irresponsible, callous, rash, ungentlemanly…."

"I knew buying her that dictionary would lead to trouble."

"SHUT – UP - CHARLIE!" Lettie shrieked, throwing her book at her companion's head.

The boy ducked underneath the table, "Forgive me for saying this, Lettie, but you seem to be acting angry enough for both you and the Dodger."

For a moment, it looked as if Lettie was having a mental toss-up between punching Charlie or kicking Dodger. Fortunately for the both of them, she smashed her hands down onto the table (sending one of the younger boys running for cover) and began her rant afresh.

"If you would only lose your temper for a _second_, Dodger! Just one, singly, tiny, miniscule – are you even listening to me?"

The Dodger, at this moment, looked up, "Sorry?"

"He's alive!" Charlie crowed, "You had us worried, Dodger, we were fearing you had gone deaf."

Lettie folded her arms, scowling, and flounced out of the room.

"What'd I say?"

"Women," Charlie told his associate sagely, shaking his head, "They lose their heads at times."

"Shut up, Charlie," the girl snapped, walking back into the room, her head already buried inside another book, "I am going to sit here," she sat, "on the other side of the room from you, and I am going to read," she finished, "and I am not going to say one word to either of you, because I hate you."

The old Jew, who until now had been sitting silently in his chair, got up and kicked Dodger (none too gently) in the ankle, "You'd better say somethin' Dodge. The last time she swore she wouldn' talk to you, she di'n say nothin' for a month."

"_You_ talk to her," Dodger grumbled sourly.

Fagin looked up, "Letticia, my dear?"

"_What_?" Lettie snarled, her voice sounding more acidic than a lemon. Both Charlie and Dodger winced.

"Would you be willing to get up – well, I can see that you are quite comfortable there, so why don't I just let you stay there until you're ready, would you like that, m'dear?" Fagin sat down, hurriedly picking up a handkerchief and beginning to pick the marks out of it, "Your turn."

"Coward."

Charlie snickered. Dodger whirled round to glare at him, and he hastily turned it into a cough.

Fagin kicked the boy twice before the young pickpocket reluctantly got up and sat down beside Lettie. The girl gave no sign that she noticed him, apart from turning the pages of her book slightly more viciously.

"Lettie?"

Nothing.

"Let?"

Lettie kept her mouth shut.

"Lettie, aren't you gonna talk to me?"

Lettie's scowl became a bit more pronounced.

"Lettie, I'm really sorry."

Silence.

"And….well, actually, I can't remember _what_ you were angry at me for – oh, I remember!" Dodger carried on hurriedly, as Lettie's eyes narrowed, "I remember, it was because me an' Charlie stole your book…..and because I pinned your dress to the chair at dinner so it ripped….and because I tripped you down the stairs. And I'm very sorry. Very, _very_ sorry, Lettie. _Extremely_ sorry. Words cannot _express_ how sorry."

Lettie shook her hair out of her eyes, "I'm still not talking to you."

"Not even if I went down on my hands and knees?"

"Nope."

"Not even if I promised to be nice to that dirty rotten scumbag Doyle the next time I saw him?"

"I know you wouldn't."

"Not even if I killed Charlie for you?"

"Hey!"

Lettie's mouth twitched, "Face it, I'm _never_ going to talk to you _ever_ again," She tossed her hair and turned her back on him.

Dodger grinned, "Are you sure?"

"_Yeah_."

"Positive?" he asked, leaning his elbows on Lettie's shoulders and muttering into her ear, "Really, _really_ positive?"

Lettie wriggled uncomfortably, "Cut it out, Dodge."

"Thought you weren't talking to me, _ever_ again."

"Well, I'm not!" Lettie squeaked, pouting slightly, although her face had gone a brilliant scarlet.

"What if I promised that the next time I went out on a job, I'd nick some books for you?" Dodger whispered, his breath tickling her ear.

Lettie squirmed, torn between hitting Dodger and kissing him, "In that case……I _may_ consider."

Dodger grinned in relief, shaking his head happily. Lettie was still considering whether or not a good punch would him straight, or whether kissing him straight on the mouth would embarrass him more (and that _was_ the only motive she had for even considering kissing him) when the door swung open and….

"Bill said," Tom Doyle was intoning, as Lettie hurriedly scrambled to start reading again, "That if we didn't deal with the bloke, he'd peach as soon as humanly poss – hullo Fagin."

"Hullo Tom," Fagin mumbled, shooting a warning look at Dodger, who in his haste to get as far away from Lettie as possible, had tumbled straight to the floor, "I trust business is good?"

"Never better," Tom said, with as much authority on the subject that a fourteen year old could muster, "I was just sayin' to Nancy – well, you can ask the gel herself," He cast a cool eye in Dodger's direction, "What you lookin' so guilty for, Dodge?"

"No reason," Dodger mumbled from the floor, whose face was as scarlet as Nancy's dress, "I'm not looking guilty at all."

Tom snorted derisively, but Nancy nodded towards Lettie and raised her eyebrow at Dodger.

Dodger glowered back at her.

The older girl just smiled and sat down beside Lettie, "Good book?"

Lettie nodded absently, "Hullo Nance."

"Hullo yourself. Listen, you fancy comin' down to the Three Cripples with me an' Bet tonight?"

The girl looked up, "Why?"

"Don't sound so suspicious! It's just a little…..venture, one might say," Nancy said pleasantly. Fagin was watching the two girls closely over Tom's shoulder, "Listen, Fagin said you wanted to try...dancin' with some of the other gels sometime, eh?"

"She's a little young for that, ain't she?" Charlie asked, his voice hinted with alarm.

Nancy made a furious motion at the boy, "What d'you reckon?"

"Might do," Lettie shrugged, "What else would I 'ave to do?"

The older girl shifted slightly in her seat, "Why don't I talk to you about that on the way to the Three Cripples, alright gel?"

"Why, what else would I h – "

"Isn't it generous of Nancy to take you out tonight?" Fagin interjected loudly over Lettie, "And what a fine opportunity for you, my dear, a fine opportunity. A noble, ancient profession too, Leticia, you must think of it in those terms," The old man grinned toothily at the assembled company, "And a living's a livin', whatever else you may think about it."

Nancy smiled unconvincingly at Lettie, "Yeah," she murmured, "A living's a living, after all."

----

"_Lettie_?"

"What?"

"Are you awake?"

"…..No."

"_Lettie_."

"I'm awake, alright, I'm awake!"

Pause.

"What d'you want, anyhow?"

"Wanted to talk to you."

"Well, talk."

Pause.

"Dodge?"

"This long distance stuff can get a bit wearing."

"Oh, for……"

There was a brief scuffle as Lettie slid under the blanket next to Dodger, "Fagin gave me a separate bed to _avoid_ this sort of stuff, you know," She muttered, shivering.

Dodger frowned, "Did you go with Nancy and Bet?"

"Yeah."

"And?"

"And…..nothing."

The boy sat up and stared down at Lettie, "_And_…did you see any of the other girls?"

Lettie shrugged, burying her head into the pillow, "Yeah."

"_And_?" Dodger persisted, shaking her slightly.

"And…..nothing. Why're you makin' such a big deal about this anyway?" She snapped, sitting up and leaning her head against Dodger's shoulder.

"Why are _you_ avoiding the question?"

"I'm…..not," Lettie mumbled into the scratchy material of Dodger's shirt.

"So answer the question!"

"It was…..disgusting."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," Dodger could hear Lettie snuffling slightly, "They were making all these horrid jokes, all the men hanging around there, and they were all….staring. Like I was on show or somethin'."

Dodger slid an arm around Lettie's waist, "It couldn't have been all that bad…..could it?"

"It _was_," She insisted, "And…..when I saw all those gels…..looking all desperate and worn down….I….I just don' wanna work there!" Lettie blurted out, shoving her hands against her eyes.

Dodger sighed, wrapping his arms around Lettie's shoulders and hugging her quietly for a few minutes, "Maybe…..maybe you could just stay on pickpocketing…." He mumbled into her hair, screwing his eyes up. He had never touched Lettie before – not like this anyway. And she felt so fragile. Did all girls feel this delicate, or just Lettie?

"I don't want to leave here, Dodge…." Lettie sighed.

Dodger's head shot straight up. Leave?

"Leave here?" He asked, his voice sounding a lot more strained than usual, "You mean, leave here and live somewhere else?"

"That's what the other girls do."

Dodger let go of her abruptly and hugged his knees to his chest, "Yeah…well," he muttered sharply, "Guess it's just a living, after all."

Lettie glowered at him, "That's just what a boy like you _would_ say," She snapped, moving further down the bed.

"A boy like me? What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means that in a few years _you'll_ probably be going to places like that, and if you saw _me_ there, you wouldn't give a damn about my feelings, you'd just see me as an object!"

There was a long, horror filled sentence where Lettie hung her head and tried to hide behind a wave of long, wavy hair, before Dodger, scowling at the blanket, muttered, "That's not fair, Lettie."

"I know," Lettie murmured quietly, "And I'm really – "

"I suppose you think your precious Tom Doyle would respect you as a whore, do you?"

Lettie's eyes flared, "As a matter of fact, _yes_!"

"_Really_," The Dodger sneered, "You think you're so perceptive, Lettie, but you don't see anything."

* * *

**A/N: **_Gasp_! That may or not have been the most dramatic thing I've ever written in this story. With probably the most rubbish ending too. 

Ah, well.

I'm so mean to these characters, aren't I? Now all we have to do is eliminate Tom Doyle, get Charlie and Cordelia together, free Nancy from the clutches of the wicked Sykes, get Lettie a different job, provide Fagin with enough money to get Bill Sykes to bog off, get Dodger and Lettie together...and fit all of that around the (non-immediate, but fastly approaching) arrival of Oliver Twist...

It's just like an episode of _EastEnders_, isn't it?

Thankyoumuchly's to: **Ericketiting **(Don't worry, I don't mind you saying that. In fact, I pretty much agree), **GarenRuyMaxwell** (I love dressing Lettie up pretty. 'Tis fun. And don't worry, Cordelia gets nicer. Andshe isn't anything like a milk cow. I hope.), **jumanji** (Thanks for the idea! I'm currently writing this, but will get around to it as soon as possible. Happy Easter! about two months late, I know),**Vechababe **(Yes, I do insist. And yes, love traingle are so FUN to write! I'm mostly going to go along every couple of years, before the arrival of young Oliver Twist, where I'll just... write normally. Thanks for the idea!) **SugarPeaches** (Sorry to keep you waiting! Thankyoumuchly!) **YamaNekoYoukaiChan** (Thankyou! I hope you don't throw slates and books at people as much as Lettie though.) **QueenoftheBadgers** (As you wish, oh highest queen of the badgers...I provide more jealous Dodger! He's so fun to write. And the readers are going to have to deal with a _lot_ more Thomas Doyle...I have evil plans ready for him and Lettie! Oh, the suspense, the suspense...)

Well, the cursed revision beckons me! Adios, amigos! Read, review and...revel in the glory of chocolate!


	7. Where The Girl Is Different

**Disclaimer**: I don't own anything...although, if it weren't for those lawyers, there'd be some changes made around here...

**A/N**: Erm...where do I start? I have the distinct feeling sorry will not be good enough...

Ok. Writer's block is evil. The fact that the plot bunnies went on holiday doesn't help either.

But anyway. Mine is not to reason why, mine is but to write or die.

And write I shall. New chapter. Everyone rejoice! The Artful Doger shall open a window for you all, on the doings and happenings in Spittlefields at this present time, and we shall get an insight into what that sneaky Tom Doyle is doing, how Charlie acts when he's drunk, how Lettie acts when she's mad, and once and for all, the dangers that Cordelia inadvertantly does to Dodger's health. Of course, we all know he secretly enjoyed it...

On with the show!

* * *

That was the week that Dodger, Lettie and Charlie were introduced to Albert Slater and the world of colour, sights and sounds that was the 'carnival', as he called it, that he run. 

Techincally, he didn't run it. The brothel, as it really was, belonged to Tom Cadwell, the genial, bumbling bartender of the Three Cripples, but as he could barely run the bar without help, he stayed far away from the brothel upstairs.

Then there was Daniel Barnett. Skinny as a skeleton, with ragged black hair and a gaunt face, he danced around the tables of the Three Cripples like a merry apparition. He was haunting, in that kind of mystical way that made you shudder, but he conjured magic tricks and told jokes which, if they _were_ amusing, always had a black centre to it. He helped Tom from running the Three Cripples into the ground (though none of the children were actually sure what he did for a living – Dodger was sure he had never seen Daniel get paid) and enjoyed entertaining the three children when, in the evenings, Fagin would leave them there. So, for the next three years, in the evenings, the boys and Lettie would spend some time in the 'dressing rooms' of the girls who worked above the Three Cripples.

The lads, Dodger in particular, were exceptionally relieved when they found out that Lettie wouldn't have to 'do anything'.

"I've persuaded Albert to let Lettie stay away from the actual work for a bit," Daniel had intoned to Dodger in a low voice, "He does have some morals, although you have to dig deep to find 'em," The man frowned at Dodger's reassured look, "A year or two, Dodge, maybe three. That's all she has, and I suggest you work hard at helping that girl while you have 'em. And keep an eye open. Not all customers come here for just sex, you understand."

Dodger understood all too well. About a month after that conversation with Daniel, Tom Doyle started spending a lot more time in the company of Lettie….

-0000000-

_Dodger rubbed his head furiously. In honour of Lettie's twelfth birthday (or at least, her adopted birthday – none of the children could ever remember when their birthday was) Fagin had let the children stay up past their bed-time and let them stay in the Three Cripples. Dodger and Charlie had taken advantage of the kind nature of their benefactor, and started drinking as much as they possibly could. Four hours later, and to Dodger, the room had turned uncommonly blurred._

"_I don't recall…" He mumbled, his words slurring slightly in his mouth, "…how…how the room got all…funny. Spinny."_

_Charlie fixed his best friend with a calculating glance, which isn't easy when you're seeing double, "You've had too much gin," He hiccupped, " 'S bad for you. Get drunk. Head hurts," He tried to sit down, managed to wrong judge the distance between himself and his chair, and fell down with a bump, "Ow."_

_Dodger snickered, almost falling over himself, "You're clumsy," He informed the boy, now lying on the floor with an expression of bewilderment on his face, "Where's…whatshername. Birthday girl. Lettie."_

"_Gone," Charlie garbled, attempting to pull himself up by a bar stool and failing, "Tom. Scumbag. Somewhere."_

_The words 'Tom' and 'somewhere' failed to make any impression on the Dodger. The gin, however, did._

"_Going out. Getting some…some fresh air. Outside."_

_Staggering slightly, Dodger managed to make his way past the patrons of the Three Cripples and out into the street, where the night air of London swirled around him, doing little good. Sighing, Dodger tripped over to the wall and sat down on a beer keg, blinking furiously. This so-called fresh air was completely overrated…_

"…_keep quiet Lettie! You want to get grabbed, stupid?"_

_Dodger frowned, blinking. In the shadows, two figures were standing uncommonly close to each other, one almost enclosing the other._

"_Sorry, Tom," The other mumbled, sounding scared stiff, "Is everyone else inside?"_

_The first figure, who seemed to be preoccupied with something else, uttered a quiet oath, "Didn't I tell you to keep quiet? Yes, they're all inside. Your little friend Dodger's drunk stupid."_

_Lettie, who was starting to sound as though she herself was slightly tipsy, giggled, "Dodge is…is…stupid. And I'm cold."_

_Tom swore loudly, yanking Lettie's hair and kissing her harshly, "Shut up, will yer?"_

_Lettie shifted slightly, "Do I have to?"_

"_You're an adult, ain't you? Course you do!"_

"_M'only twelve."_

_Tom sighed impatiently, "That's old enough for me. I won't make you do anything that'll get you into trouble, alright? Just come with me."_

_Charlie reeled out of the pub, just as the two figures disappeared, "Alright, Do…Do…Dodger?"_

_Dodger realised he had been clenching his hands into fists, "I think I'm going to be sick."_

"_That's the gin," Charlie clapped his friend on the back, "What you need, Dodger, is to realise you can't always hold your liquor……"_

-0000000-

"It makes me sick," Dodger had muttered to Charlie as the pair of them (now sober) conversed in low whispers, while the rest of the boys and Lettie were asleep, "the way he treats her, you'd think she was some sort of rag doll. I don't know what she sees in him, I really don't."

Charlie had shrugged, pulling his blanket further around his shoulders, "Maybe she thinks she don't have no choice," The boy mumbled, and refused to expand further on the subject.

Charlie, in his own stupid, infuriating manner, was starting to do that a lot, Dodger had observed. The many conversations that they had when everyone else was asleep (usually about girls, money, girls, life, and…girls) were starting to get punctuated with Charlie mumbling 'never mind', 'it doesn't matter' and, on one occasion, 'if you're too dumb to work it out, I shan't tell you'. Not even the threat of giving him up to the traps would get Charlie to tell, and Dodger had the most horrible of suspicions that this was what Fagin would refer to as 'growing up'.

That was another thing, Dodger recalled, that was changing in Spittlefields. More and more, Fagin would be making dire warnings, or amused comments, about the perils of 'growing up'. He had also, to Dodger's extreme irritation, started muttering a little saying under his breath that would get him in fits of laughter…

-0000000-

"_Gimme it **back**!"_

_Dodger stood, dangerously balanced, on the kitchen table, soaring over Lettie's outstretched hands and landing neatly at the other end, almost crashing into Fagin's account books._

"_You're going to have to come and get it, Lettie!" Dodger catcalled gleefully, as he bounded from chair to chair, and then finally to the table again, "'S lovely writing," He commented, pretending to read the book he had in his hand._

"_What would **you** know about it Dodger? You can't even read."_

_Dodger flung the book across to Charlie, who Lettie chased twice around the kitchen, before clambering onto the settee and bouncing just out of the incensed girl's reach, "It's ours **now** Lettie!"_

"_Neither…of…you…read!" Lettie squealed, stamping her foot for every word, "Gimme it back! **DODGER**!"_

_Jumping to catch the book, Dodger made a spectacular leap through the kitchen door, landing in a heap at Lettie's feet._

_**The girl is not happy, **Dodger thought, as Lettie glowered furiously at him, **not happy at all….**_

"_**Dodger**!" Lettie whined, "That's **my** book……what could you possibly want with it?"_

"_Nothin'," Dodger shrugged, getting to his feet and turning to Charlie, "except it's funny to see you in such a strop…OW!"_

_Dodger let out a yelp as Lettie made a valiant jump and grabbed hold of his shoulders, pulling herself up. Charlie snickered, "You look as though you're giving her a piggy-back, Dodge."_

"_Very funny," Dodger snarled, twisting and turning in an attempt to throw Lettie off. Lettie, for her part, stuck like a limpet, "Lettie, **get off** me!"_

_Charlie's cheerful look turned to one of alarm. As Dodger squirmed, Lettie was bumped into things – the bookcase, the desk, and more importantly, Master Charles Bates…_

"_Ow!" Charlie wailed, as Lettie and Dodger went crashing into him, knocking him off his perch. The boy, who had collapsed onto his back, was at the bottom of a pile, consisting of him lying underneath Lettie, who in turn was underneath Dodger._

_Muttering under his breath, Fagin hobbled out from his makeshift bedroom to investigate the source of noise, "What's going on out here, my dears? Dodger, you'll wake our neighbours, with your caterwauling."_

"_Fagin, tell Dodger to get off me!"_

"_Get off **you**! You wouldn't get off **me**!"_

"_Well, **you** stole my book!"_

"_Will both of you please get off me?"_

"_SHUT UP CHARLIE!"_

_Fagin shook his head, almost mournfully, and sighed, "One day, Leticia my dear, you'll have to make a decision about these two fine gentlemen," He commented, making the three look up, "You know the old saying – 'two's company, three's a crowd'…" And with that, the old thief burst into wheezing laughter._

_As Lettie and Dodger made disgusted faces, Charlie rolled his eyes, looking thoroughly exasperated, "That's all very well and good, Fagin," He said coolly, "but if you **will** pay attention to the facts, **I'm **not the one with my head in Lettie's lap."_

_And as Lettie let out a yelp, and Dodger began to think of why hadn't he noticed that before, and how had he actually landed with his head in Lettie's lap, and why wasn't he moving his head then, well, because it felt quite nice, actually, and that was fine when he thought about it, yes, but Lettie was yelling at him, so why didn't he move, Charlie and Fagin just laughed and laughed and laughed._

-0000000-

It was ridiculous, Dodger thought, how they carried on. It was almost as though they thought he was _keen_ on her, or something like that.

Which he wasn't. At all. Not at all. No way. Definitely not. _Absolutely_ not. No fear. Out of the question. _No_.

Those odd, swirling feelings he sometimes got in the pit of his stomach were probably just…just….just the food that Fagin gave them, was all.

Exactly.

No question about it.

Definitely.

Well….possibly, at least.

If it hadn't been for that dammed nightdress, he would have been able to think about Lettie with an absolute clean conscience…

-0000000-

"_Keep that **away** from me."_

_Cordelia made a face, "Lettie, every working girl wears something similar to this. It's actually quite conservative."_

_Lettie let out a screech and stamped her foot. After about three months of having to spend more time in the company of the working girls, the girls had bonded quite closely. After this, however, Lettie was willing to rethink her friendship with the girl._

"_**Conservative**? I am **not** going to wear one of those things. No, no, no," A sudden thought struck Lettie, "Hey, **you** don't…"_

_Coderlia smirked, "Wouldn't you like to know?"_

_Lettie shuddered, "You are sick. Cord. Sick, sick, sick."_

_Cordelia threw the offending item at Lettie, "Come on Lettie. Just go behind the screen and try it on."_

_Safely behind the screen, Lettie slid into the garment and shuddered again. The purple, silk slip came up to her mid-thigh, showing off her garter belts and down to show a fair bit of her chest. Add to the fact that the hem and the neckline were edged with black lace, and Lettie swore to herself that she'd never let anyone, **anyone**, except for Cordelia, see her in this._

"_It's too tight," Lettie snarled as she stepped out, scowling, "I am **not** wearing this."_

_Cordelia looked at her appraisingly, "Not bad," She commented, "Your silver necklace would look nice with that."_

"_In the kitchen."_

"_So get it."_

"_In **this**?"_

"_Fagin and the boys are out. Go on!"_

_Muttering an oath about slips in general, Lettie stormed out into the kitchen, pulled a stool next to the shelves and stood on it, beginning to rifle through the odds and sods to find the necklace…_

_-----_

_Dodger almost fell out of bed. Dammit! Everyone else was out, and if he didn't get out quickly, he wouldn't get enough money to make Fagin happy. Charlie was a right foul git for letting him sleep in like that…._

_Well, not everyone was out. Someone was rattling around in the kitchen. Quietly, so as not to let anyone know how late he slept, Dodger crept into the kitchen, and almost let his eyes bulge out of his socket in shock._

_Lettie looked…..well, he could hardly describe it. There were really no words to describe….well, what **was** she wearing? Not anything decent, that was for sure. Maybe if he got out now, he could get away without her noticing….but still, there was no harm in just **looking,** was there? _

_It was **Lettie**. Not the same Lettie he'd known and grown up with, anyway. Definitely not. Dodger felt his face grow hot as he stared…no gawped at the girl, who was now stretching for the top shelf to get at something. Her dress **was** riding up awfully high…high enough to see the black lacy material…Dodger managed to tear his eyes away and stick his hands in his jacket pocket awkwardly, feeling his face grow even hotter. He wiped a hand across his forehead, pushing the hair that had been stuck down with sweat out of his eyes, and let a quiet, steady breath that he hadn't realised he'd been holding go._

_Maybe he **should** have looked….no, that was stupid, it was Lettie after all. Why should he want to see what she was wearing underneath that? Well, he **could** already see her garters….had spent a good five minutes staring at them, if he was completely honest…what was the harm in seeing her undergarments, anyhow?_

_**A lot of harm**, a voice in his head muttered, as his stomach clenched._

_Scowling, Dodger waited until Lettie had found what she was looking for, hid behind the door as she had turned around, (in the few seconds that she was facing him, the front view was no less pleasing than the back), watched her walk out, waited until the heat subsided from his face, rubbed a hand across his forehead and quietly stole out._

-0000000-

So, three years into the future, and to the untrained observer, almost nothing had changed. But to Dodger, too much had….

"LETTIE! CORDELIA'S HERE!"

Lettie walked out of her room (a small space not much bigger than a cupboard), hands clapped over her ears, "You don't have to yell so loudly," She hissed, a look of extreme pain written all over her face, "My head _hurts_."

Dodger smirked from where he was sitting, blowing out a ring of smoke into Lettie's face, "That'll serve you right for drinking too much gin," He told her lazily.

Lettie scowled, "Why don't you just go and…."

"Lettie!"

Lettie made a very dark face at her friend before turning to Cordelia, "Are you ready to go?"

"What do you two _do_ in there, anyway?" Charlie asked, looking up from the house he was building with a deck of cards, "You girls always go up there and come down again looking all giggly."

Lettie and Cordelia exchanged amused looks, "None of your business," Cordelia told him haughtily.

"You've _got_ to tell us!" Charlie wailed, "'S not fair if you keep secrets from us, we don't have secrets from you!"

Dodger shifted slightly in his seat.

Lettie tossed her hair back from her face, busy doing the fastening up on her cloak, "If you really must know, we get….taught stuff," Cordelia spluttered into laughter.

Dodger made a face, "Taught stuff? What kind of stuff?"

"You want her to give you a demonstration?" Cordelia managed to gasp out before doubling up again.

Lettie shot a disgusted look at her friend as Dodger frowned, "Come on, tell me!"

"You really want to know?"

"Yeah."

Lettie had a thoughtful look on her face, "_Really_ want to know?"

"Yes! Come on Lettie, just tell me!"

"Alright," Lettie grabbed Dodger by the lapels of his jacket and pulled him to his feet, "See, this is what we get taught," She told him matter-of-factly, before pressing her mouth to his.

Dodger almost fell backward. He had kissed girls before, of course, but none of them had really…well…._felt_ like this before. If kissing Lettie gave him the same head-spinning, legs-turning-to-water feeling that it did now, he would never stop.

His heart beating at such an alarming rate that he was sure everyone would be able to hear it, his entire body seemed to have gone numb. Apart from where Lettie had gently placed her hands on each side of his face, and was now slowly stroking one hand down one side. They felt like they were on fire. And his lips. It was almost as if they were burning. How on earth did Lettie _do_ it? She was….well, it was…..she….

He really couldn't say anything definite about it. All he could really decipher out of the muddled, swirled up feeling in every bone in his body was how lovely she tasted. Like apples and cinnamon. He could just taste it as her tongue flicked over his. Why had he never known about that before? And what on earth _was_ that enjoyable, slightly delicious feeling in the pit of his stomach – as if something was swirling around inside of him. He shivered, letting out a quiet sound from the back of his throat.

The girl let go of him, letting Dodger stumble backwards a few paces. He was almost painfully aware that his jaw was slack, "See?" She patted him almost sympathetically on the shoulder, "See you boys later!" She chirped, skipping out of the room, Cordelia behind her.

Cordelia lasted about ten paces out of the door, before cornering her friend, "Alright….Leticia Hackdown, are you out of your _mind_? Has spendin' all that time with those lads given you some sort of sickness?"

Lettie shook her head, smiling slightly wistfully, "No…I just thought that would be the only effective way to shut him up."

Cordelia rolled her eyes expressively, "Lettie, three years ago, had anyone told me that you would resort to kissing lads to stop them talking, I would have thought them crazy," She paused thoughfully, "It seems to have done the trick though."

"Indeed."

There was a long pause, broken only by the sound of a crash in the next room.

"What was that?"

Cordelia looked into the room, "Dodger fell over. He still looks a little dazed."

"Ah."

Cordelia stared at her friend, dark brown eyes looking calculating, "You looked as though you enjoyed that."

"Well, I didn't."

"Oh."

"I'd just like to get that clear. I never want to go through that experience again. Once in a lifetime, understand me? Never again."

"Right."

"Just to set the record straight."

"Oh, of course."

"Never again."

"Right."

There was a longer pause, this time more embarrassed, more awkward.

"Let?"

"Yes?"

"Is he a better kisser than Tom?"

"_Cordelia_!"

"Well, I just said, is he, or isn't he, is all."

* * *

**A/N**: Gasp! Aren't I mean? Aren't I insane? Aren't I so very, very warped minded?

And, for anyone who's interested, Dodger and Charlie are now fourteen, Lettie's thirteen, and Tom's seventeen. Oliver Twist, here we come...

And now, thankyou's to: **jumanji** (breathe, woman, breathe! someone get this woman an air tank! Glad you enjoyed, here's more!) **Queen of the Badgers** (Ah, yes, they are indeed sweet. Charlie says hello and waves. Yes, I do indeed have evil plans. Accursedly enough, they can't start yet. Damn. And yes, I think that Dodger has realised, if not specific 'feelings', general feelings of a more teenage-boyish nature. And here is more Cordelia for you. Cordelia, say hello!) **Bombalurinasara **(Yeah, the musical is excellent. Very sweet. I had a look at your profile CATS! Yay! and saw your list of CATS pairings. Why don't you write a Pouncival/Etcetera fic? Or have you already? It just sounds a good pairing) **GarenRuyMaxwell** (Don't worry, Charlie is alive and well, if not almost dieng from lack of breath, due to exessive laughter. Oh well. And, indded, this _will_ end well! It'll just have an _extremely_ tricky patch inbetween. And we are talking _extreme_ trickiness.) **Ericketiting **(Unfortunately, yes, they would have. I did I little bit of research, and apparently it was quite common. Horribleness, I know. Glad you like it!) **SugarPeaches** (Ah, well, you must wait and see, to tell where Lettie will work. On with the story!) **Vechababe** (Ah, I hear the theme tune even now...Hope you caught this update!) **sethshoney** (Dodger is indeed, as you say, freaking amazing. I'd like to see your story!) **PrincessRebel** (Not yet, not yet! First I need to think up a suitable way for Dodger to get his own back on Tom...I think a keg on gunpowder and a lighted splint's pretty suitable...) **funkymignons **(Erm...yes. I have updated. Please calm yourself now!) **and Independantskater** (Indeed, it keeps us all wondering. Even me. Wait, aren't I meant to be in charge of them? Uh oh...)

Well, you guys know what to do. Read, review, and eat chocolate.


	8. Where They All Get Drunk

**A/N:** Ok, ok...

Blame becomming a Yr 10 on this lack of updates. There is TOO MUCH COURSEWORK, DAMMIT. Also a sudden and worrying obsession with Robin Hood.

But still...updates! Which I have provided for you. Please read!!!

* * *

The cold wind whistled around the nooks and crannys of London, whipping up lace and tatters all together, piercing both common and upper-class alike. The wind was not prejudiced. It howled about the houses of Petonville, before screaming past Saffron Hill. It scatted urchins, chilled business men and nipped thieves. It stopped for no-one.

It was, perhaps, most hardly felt in a house in Spittlefields. There it rattled the rafters, swept around the dusty eaves and smashed in window panes. It ruffled the bed clothes, rippled the soup, and flicked open the book in Lettie Hackdown's lap, where she sat perched on her favourite spot to read, in the tiny window seat, where the window faced out into the city. Lettie had already decorated this seat with dusty velvet cushions, piles of battered books and several laces and ribbons, which she was absent-mindedly twisting into her hair.

The Artful Dodger picked up the poker from the side of the fireplace and rapped it sharply on the floorboards, breaking Lettie out of her reverie, "Lettie! Get your head out of the clouds, lass!"

"It's not in the clouds, it's in the Orient, or India, or one of those far-off places that isn't quite so cold," Lettie argued, wrapping her shawl around her form. This was hardly an improvement, as the shawl, though surely designed to intrigue, was not notably warming, "I hate winter. Business is awful in the winter."

"Funny," Dodger remarked dryly, slumping back in his chair, "You would think more people would want for warming up in the winter."

"I meant pick-pocketing, you pig!" Lettie shrieked, throwing a cushion at the boy's head.

"Brat," he returned.

"Donkey."

"Shrill."

"Goose."

"Pest."

Charlie Bates, his cap pulled down over his ears and his hands jammed deep inside his pockets, emerged from the boys' bedroom just in time to grab Lettie around the waist and pull her away from punching Dodger in the face, "Fighty little thing, isn't she Dodger?"

"Terribly so," Dodger nodded gravely, "Fighty _and_ flighty. It's an awful thing in a lass, that."

"Fightiness or flightiness?"

"Both, I should wager."

"Ah."

"Fightiness isn't even a word, stupids!" Lettie shouted from her position on the floor, "Let me up!"

Dodger bent down and complied, with much hand-waving and bowing as he did so. The girl scowled, and promptly drove her foot into Master Dawkins' ankle.

"ARGH! You little –"

Sucking his teeth and rubbing his hands from the cold, Fagin managed to hobble his way into the room, "Tush tush. Dark nights for dark business. I believe I shall go out tonight, my dears. Just down to the Three Cripples, nowhere far. I trust you three shall stay here and mind the house tonight? There's an ill wind blowing around."

"Aye, and it's making the whole of London feel just how ill it is," Charlie growled, irritably pulling a loose thread on his jacket and watching with somewhat morbid fascination as half of the left sleeve unravelled daintily before his eyes.

Lettie folded her arms sulkily, and flounced back to her seat, "I don't fancy sitting with those two stupids," She grumbled, "I want to go out."

"You'll stay here," Fagin snapped, reaching into his pocket and tossing a bottle of gin to Dodger, who caught it easily with a grin, "Drink up, drink up, my dears. Eat, drinks, be merry, for tomorrow we die."

"Cheerful, ain't he?" Charlie muttered, raising an eyebrow at Fagin's retreating back, "Wassamatter with him?"

Dodger shrugged, sitting down at the table and setting the gin bottle on the surface contentedly. Lettie looked darkly at the bottle.

"No."

"What?"

"No, you ain't having more than one tumbler-full of gin, no, we ain't getting drunk, no, we ain't doing anything stupid."

00000

Two hours, and several bottles of gin later, the world, the house, the room and Dodger had all started blurring together, so Lettie's entire sight consisted of one big mass of colour. Sitting on the kitchen table, clutching a bottle of gin and letting her feet swing from the table, Lettie couldn't quite understand why she was laughing so hard - except for the fact that it felt so nice to laugh like this, with tears pouring down her face and her stomach ached from laughter.

"I….I t-think you're drunk, Lettie."

Lettie swayed, "Master Dawkins, I will have you know that I'm n-not so think as you drunk I am. I'm completely and utterly….sober. Yes."

"You are so too drunk!" Dodger fell into one of the kitchen chairs, "You sway when you're drunk."

"Well," Lettie sniffed, "I may be swaying, but I am swaying with dignity! And how would _you_ know what I look like when I'm drunk? I do _not_ get drunk. Never. Ever."

"I've seen you drunk," Dodger said smugly, resting his chin against the back of the chair and peered up at her.

He really _did_ have the loveliest brown eyes.

"When? You've b-been….spying on me!"

"I have n-not!" The boy exclaimed indignantly, "I d-didn't _mean_ to see you and that….that…..person. Scumbag. Louse. Wha's his name?"

"Tom?" Lettie hiccupped, giggling. A little part of her wondered why she was calling Tom a scumbag and a louse when she was _courting_ him, but she pushed it out of her mind.

"Thank you. You two. Your twelfth birthday. You were _drunk_."

Lettie scowled, attempting to kick him, "Tha's none of _your_ business if I get drunk or not. Tom was looking after me."

"He won't l-look after you," Dodger managed to stagger to his feet, pulling Lettie up with him, "The _truth_ about him is…..is…..is…..You're drunk."

Lettie spluttered, taking another healthy swig of gin, "Amn't. You're drunkerer."

"Am _not_!"

"Are _so_," Lettie nodded imperiously, snatching the bottle of gin Dodger held in his hands and tipping a fair amount down his throat, causing the boy to splutter and choke, "See, you _are_ drunk." She watched in amusement as the Artful continued to cough, until it was too much for her, and she doubled up in a giggling fit.

"Shuttup. You're drunkerer than me, anyhows."

"And we're both drunkerer than Charlie," Lettie nodded at the boy, who was now slumped, comatose, on the settee, one hand trailing along the ground and the other curled around a large bottle of something that didn't look like gin.

"Yes," Dodger slurred, attempting to fix Lettie with a serious look, and missing her face. He tried again, "Do you really care for him, Lettie?"

Lettie frowned. That was a bit of a change of topic.

"Who? Ch-Ch-Charlie?" She tittered at her own joke.

"_No_, silly!" Dodger folded his arms, "_You_ know. Thingy. Scumbag. Louse."

"Tom?"

"Yes! Do you care for _him_?"

Lettie made a face, sticking her tongue out of the corner of her mouth. Truth be told, she had never really thought about it like that….

"I dunno. Maybe. S'none of _your_ business."

Dodger pushed his brown hair back from his eyes (his hat already upended and kicked into a corner of the kitchen) and stuck his hands in his pockets, "I'm _responsible_ for you, silly," He told her, "I'm….I'm meant to look after you, remember?"

Lettie ignored the nagging suspicion that, seeing as Fagin had told Dodger to look after her when she was _seven_, the instruction probably didn't apply anymore, and sat down heavily on the floor with a bump, fanning herself lightly with her hand. She blinked up at the boy for a second, before grabbing his hand and pulling him down after her, shuffling out the way as he almost fell on top of her.

"You're sweet," She informed him matter-of-factly, "Y'know, I do like you, Dodge," She hiccupped, "I wouldn't mind courtin' you yourself."

A small part of her mind that had not been completely affected by the gin screamed that this was _not_ a good thing to say.

"If…if you weren't such a….such a silly, anyways," She added hastily, leaning her head against his shoulder.

"Right," Dodger mumbled, putting an arm around her waist, "M'too. If it weren't for Scumbag, I'd have had you years ago."

Lettie made a confused face. She was _sure_ that the statement probably had sexual undertones of which she'd usually be offended by…

"Mister Dawkins, I'm not sure I've had enough gin to allow for that kind of talk!" She protested firmly, raising her bottle and taking a hearty swig, "Cheers."

"Cheers," Dodger echoed, "Y'know, I reckon I've seen more of you than Scumbag has. I saw you when you were wearing that…" He gestured slightly, "Ridiculous purple thing. All lacy 'n stuff. Not that you didn't look very attractive in it."

The girl frowned. _Definitely_ not enough gin to listen to this.

"Well," Lettie said, "No-one was _supposed_ to see me like that….but I s'pose as you're so sweet, I'll forgive you."

Dodger yawned, stretching out like a cat and resting his head on the floor, sprawling on his back, " 'M tired. All that gin's givin' me a…a…headache."

"I told you!" Lettie giggled triumphantly, leaning over the boy and poking him in the chest, "I told you that you were drunker….drunkerer than me!"

Dodger blinked slowly, propping himself up by his elbows so their heads almost bashed together, "I…I think," He muttered slowly, "I'm going to kiss you now."

"I think you'd better."

Dodger nodded uncertainly, placing one hand at the back of Lettie's neck and pulling her down towards him, kissing her slowly, lazily. Instead of shock and a slight amount of terror, all he could decipher out of the mess of _feeling_ was a sense of tired contentedness, and the taste of gin and heat.

0000

Lettie's head _hurt_.

It wasn't possible to have both a sharp and dull pain, as she knew from reading countless novels where the suffering hero was either suffering from a terrible illness (dull pain) or stabbed through the stomach (sharp pain), but that was what she felt. The girl let out a pained, high whine, before closing her eyes and drawing the coverlet over her head again. The sweet, warmth of the blanket enveloped her, pulling her back into the seductive oblivion of sleep…

"Good _MORNING_ Lettie! It's a _BEAUTIFUL_ morning!!"

Expletives that would make a sailor blush came pouring out of Lettie's mouth as Cordelia bent over her and ruffled her hair in a very vigorous manner. From the little Lettie could see of the girl through her one, red and bleary, open eye, Cordelia was beaming in a way which suggested that she did not have a hangover.

"There's one bubble I can't wait to burst," Lettie snarled into her pillow.

"Didn't you have a very good evening, Let?"

Lettie frowned, thinking back. What she could remember of the evening consisted mostly of drinking gin and stopping Charlie from jumping out the window.

"As far as I can remember…" She mumbled, "mostly it was…."

Another memory floated into her mind, unbidden. Lettie promptly chocked into her pillow, "_Lawks_!"

Cordelia frowned, "What's the matter?"

The smaller girl clutched her head, groaning, "Oh, I'm going to die…."

The miserable groans of the girl was interrupted by a series of curses tumbling head-over-heels out of Charlie's mouth as he staggered into the room, looking grey faced and wobbly legged. The worse for wear boy promptly blushed a bright shade of red at the sight of Cordelia, who smiled back at him, and Dodger, who had managed to stumble, if not stagger, behind him, crashed into Charlie, who seemed to have frozen in one place, causing him to topple to the floor.

"Watch where you're stopping!" Dodger looked up from his current position on the floor at Lettie, and turned the same bright colour that made Charlie look pale by comparison.

As Charlie began to mumble out a greeting to Cordelia, Lettie sprung to her feet, managing to sway only slightly, and ran out the door, pausing only to grab Dodger by the scruff off the neck and haul him out into the kitchen. Dimly realising that she was only wearing a nightdress, Lettie passed over this little inconvenient fact, and scowled furiously at him.

"Alright, Dodge, let's get one thing straight here. Do you remember anything that happened last night?"

Dodger's ears flushed scarlet, "Well…."

Lettie's hand shot out and grabbed Dodger by the front of his shirt, pulling him down to face her, "I don't think you understood what I just said, Dodger. _Do you remember anything that happened last night_?"

"No," Dodger looked relieved, "Nope, nothing. Absolutely not. Nothing in the slightest."

* * *

**A/N:** Ok, not as much as I would have liked. But must flee! Bye bye.


End file.
